


Kitsune

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, dark themes, death by het :P, twisted folktales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-03
Updated: 2006-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Hermione discovers her true Animagus form... and it's not really an Animagus form.  (Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Harry, mention of several Hermione het pairings)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://femgenficathon.livejournal.com/profile)[femgenficathon](http://femgenficathon.livejournal.com/) (prompt 18 - _No good deed goes unpunished_ , -Clare Booth Luce). Quote again warped and bent to spawn this. The idea and first part of the outline have been floating about for quite a long time, but it took the fest and the quote to pull it together... and then wibble complete with nail chewing about its appropriateness or lack thereof for this challenge. I apologize in advance on behalf of the rabid bunnies that made me do it. Research material cheerfully gacked from wikipedia entries on [Kitsune](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune), [foxes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fox), [red foxes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Fox), [fox hunts](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fox_hunt), as well as other online and print sources of Japanese and Chinese folktales, and twisted them all (severely) to suit. As such, nothing at all is quoted directly, but oh man, am I educated now. One more spoilery note/disclaimer at the end."> So much love for [](http://juice817.livejournal.com/profile)[juice817](http://juice817.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Hermione found it amusing at first - the first time she truly felt the bones in her hands shift and click, sliding together to form a petite, rust-colored paw. Clever as she was, her true Animagus form immediately became obvious to her and she had giggled, considering the potential for bad jokes and innuendo. Marvelling at the soft toes and sharp claws now in place, she began shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Standing, she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of the very end of a furry red and white tail peeking out from under her skirt, and she dissolved into gales of laughter. It took her a full ten minutes to become centered enough to force the paw back to normal and the fox tail to disappear.

###

The first time she managed the change completely, she ran around her room wild with joy, sliding under the bed and surprising Crookshanks, who batted playfully at her bushy tail as she ran past. She jumped onto her bed and turned three small circles before curling into a tight ball just to see what it was like, and found herself drifting almost immediately into a resting state unlike any she had ever known. Eyes shut, her ears remained alert, mind digesting all of the subtle sounds from around the room, as well as those of the entire floor around her. Springing up, she leapt gracefully from the bed only to land in a very graceless pile, licking a paw more to ease her wounded pride than to soothe an actual hurt.

More practice was called for, then. Willing her body to slide back into her natural form, she began to change, pulling away from the ground into a crouch before standing fully upright. Examining herself in the full-length mirror, she immediately caught sight of the lingering foxtail, lips pursing slightly in concern before willing it away with considerably more effort than should have been required.

Regardless, she had achieved the complete transformation, and after staring into the mirror once more, she collapsed laughing onto her bed, flushed with victory and fully exhausted. Hugging her pillow and grinning, she soon fell into a deep sleep, dreaming dreams of rabbits and burrows and outsmarting the men's giant hounds; dreams promptly forgotten upon waking.

###

At the Junior Order's post-game happy hour, Hermione sat between Neville at the edge of the table, and Harry, who was followed by Ron, Luna, Ginny, Fred and George at the other end of the U-shaped booth directly facing Neville. There was obviously no such thing as a Junior Order officially, but the eight youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix had adopted the name out of hearing of the remainder of the group. For all that they were real members, it was difficult to believe that they were being taken seriously by their parents, former professors and various other people who insisted on calling them "the children".

The discussion at the warded table was even louder and more animated than usual, fueled by butterbeer and the recent re-incarceration of the Lestranges and a small group of their followers, thanks mostly to a scheme planned by Ron and Remus, carried out by Luna, Ginny and the twins, with the Ministry taking credit officially for the capture.

It was a harsh reality that the post-Voldemort world did not in fact consist of kittens and sunshine. The Order had followers to round up, and quickly lest the former Death Eaters find them first. After all, none of them were precisely happy with Harry or his ilk when the Ministry came calling, appropriating property and incarcerating heads of influential Pureblood households. More than one Order member had met 'accidental' ends even after Voldemort's defeat. Still, it meant the world was a safer place in general, and though they all kept Mad-Eye Moody in mind and did in fact take measures toward constant vigilance, at least once a week the Junior Order found a new place to relax a bit and just be with one another.

This week, it took several rounds before the flush died away from the topic of conversation and Hermione took advantage of the fresh silence to share her news.

"I finally did it."

Harry and Ron cheered, pulling Hermione into a tight three-sided hug and whistling for another round before beginning a barrage of questions.

"When?!"

"How long?"

"How?"

"Did it hurt?"

"What did Crookshanks think?"

"Who gives a toss--what did it feel like?"

Hermione burst into laughter at their excitement coupled with the blank stares of the rest of her friends at the table. Neville pulled at the elbow of her sleeve, mumbling, "Erm, Hermione...?"

Fred slammed his mug on the table and half stood, cutting him off. "Brilliant! She finally gave in to Longbottom's manly charms!"

Following suit, George stood briefly to reach over the table and clap Neville on the shoulder. "Well done, old man! If it wasn't us, or any of our brothers, or Ginny or Luna, I'm glad it was you."

Neville's entire face and throat flushed a true Weasley red to his hairline as the table erupted in more wild laughter. He stuttered, "I...errr... I...", as Hermione threw an arm over him to ruffle his hair before letting it rest on his shoulder and addressing the table.

"No, No. Although Nev here is quite a catch, ladies and gents. No, what I haven't shared with anyone at this table other than my siamese twins here is that I've been training... studying to become an Animagus, and last night, I finally succeeded in completely transforming into a red fox and back."

Luna's quirked eyebrow and quiet commentary were drowned out by an extra loud cheer seemingly timed to the waitress' return with eight more butterbeers and eight shots of firewhiskey.

"Brilliant!"

"Smashing!"

"Bloody well amazing!"

"To our foxy Hermione! Cheers!"

Seven shots of firewhiskey were knocked back and followed by another loud cheer that filtered somewhat throught the heavy Imperturbables surrounding the table. The eighth was held quietly in Luna's hands as she stared at Hermione over Harry and Ron's mugs of butterbeer, trying to recall exactly why she was concerned. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Hermione turned her attention to Neville.

Neville, who had tried to nudge her leg under the table to get her attention quietly, nearly jumped as she fixed her reddening eyes upon his. Neville, who'd had a silent crush on Hermione since fourth year at Hogwarts, now sat petrified as he had not been in years.

Hermione smirked, eyes glittering. "Yes, Neville? Are you feeling neglected? Allow me to remedy the situation."

She pressed herself to him, kissing him directly on the lips, moving the hand on his shoulder back to his head to pull him closer. For a brief moment Neville sat stunned as her lips touched his, arm braced against the table to keep from falling from the booth.

No longer able to hear the small group cheering or catcalling, he pulled himself back fully onto the seat with one quick motion and used the hand that had braced him to grab onto her upper arm, pulling up a handful of jumper. There was no point in analyzing the situation; there was only time to seize the moment. He shut his eyes and deepened the kiss, making some guttural sound in the back of his throat and feeling as though he could faint or die or both simultaneously if it lasted much longer.

When they finally pulled apart, she smirked again at him before turning to the rest of the table and asking breathily, "Alright. I suppose that's resolved. Now, where were we?"

Still laughing and drinking and ribbing each other good-naturedly, they threw questions at her until there was nothing left to say and Ginny declared herself too drunk to Apparate and too tired to stay.

Luna Flooed home with Ginny, but later wished she'd stopped Hermione to ask her a few more questions privately. There were few ways, however, that even her open nature could work out to peel Hermione from Neville's side after they'd left the pub and walked back to her flat. And truly, not even Luna was paranoid enough to make a serious issue out of a half-remembered Muggle fairytale. Yet.

###

The day was far from stormy; still and quiet, with birds chirping too far away, but the black-clad group of mourners took no comfort in the temperate weather.

Once again Hermione stood at a friend's funeral, though this time, she and Ron were not in their familiar bookend posistions around Harry. Instead, Harry slipped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and Ginny looped her arm through Hermione's opposite elbow to make sure that she was at the center of an unbroken chain of the broken Junior Order. In one direction, Luna stood just a little behind and leaning on Harry, her fingers tight through George's; in the other, Ginny used Ron as a handkerchief while Fred's hand held Ron's back steady, his head bowed silently sharing his grief with his twin at the other end and thus completing the circuit.

Eyes tight, Hermione clutched the white and yellow roses to her side, no longer listening to the officiant. She had stopped approximately when the pastor had begun speaking about lost opportunities and Ginny squeezed her arm and murmured, "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Hermione for her part was numb. Numb to all of it; to Harry rushing in and portkeying her to St. Mungo's muttering about Nev being hurt; about his having strolled whistling into the Ministry, late for work and on cloud nine and being tackled and stabbed repeatedly before he even exited the Apparition point. Numb to the fact that the Ministry's official position blamed escapees from St. Mungo's criminal wards though the Order knew better. It had been retalliation for the raid and arrests, specifically the one they'd been celebrating not two weeks prior.

Numb to Gran Longbottom standing straight and tall and ashen-faced in the St. Mungo's waiting room; her only words to any of them was a murmured swear as she crossed the room to slap Remus soundly and left it to see Neville. Or by then, she supposed it had been his body.

Numb and would stay numb because she couldn't give thought to what had happened and what might have happened between them. Numb because there would be no more ever-less-tentative visits to her flat, always flower or plant or green living thing in hand, and no more unexpectedly tackling him, more sexually agressive than she'd ever been in her entire adult life. Numb to the fact that their friends had not yet stopped teasing Neville and Hermione about their blossoming relationship, and yet Neville, who had stuttered and barely made it through his first few years of school; who had come from behind his classsmates to excel at every subject (except Potions), who had made it into the Auror corps and the Order of the Phoenix, and had saved countless lives with hard-won skill and bravery, was now dead at the age of twenty-one.

Numb because she felt responsible and she couldn't articulate why, and for Hermione, this was the most frightening thing yet.

Ginny nudged her and she realized that it was time to move. She stepped up and dropped the flowers onto the casket, shivering as they struck the rich wood with a slight _thunk_ , and let Harry pull her away.

###

Sitting at her mirror, Hermione swallowed hard and took a breath, reminding herself that it was time to revise. It had been two days since the funeral; four since he'd been gone; five since she'd seen one of her oldest friends who'd so recently turned out to be more. She'd had to fight the rest of them to leave her alone; swearing she was fine, making solemn oaths to Floo or call or email or something if she was otherwise, practically shoving Ron out her front door late last night.

It was true that she was fine-- after all, if there was one thing Hermione could turn to, it was her studies. She held her wand aloft and and began the transformation slowly from her toes and slipped directly into her fox form without incident.

Once again low to the ground, it was as if a switch had been thrown; the world was cast in sharp relief; the people in it that were not herself took on a secondary importance. All that mattered was staying alive, eating, protecting her territory.

Somewhere deep in her mind, the part that was still just Hermione knew that in an Animagus transformation, the wizard should still be in control-- that the animal's consciousness and instincts flickered and influenced the wizard's own, but ultimately, the human should remain in contol. The fact of the matter was that at this moment, she didn't care to assert it. It didn't hurt to be her fox self and so for once, she gave in.

She set to trotting about the living room looking for things to discover.

###

Eventually, a small red fox slept curled in a ball on top of the covers on a bed that belonged to Hermione Granger, accomplished researcher and theoretician, and shifted fitfully as her dreams took shapes that in humans would be referred to as nightmares.

_She hunted in thick wood; her prey a fat squirrel that smelled of tree and berries and branches and fear. The vixen had stalked it, but the wind had shifted at the last minute and the foodthing tried to run, stupidly panicking and taking to the ground rather than the trees. In the split second that the squirrel hesitated, the vixen downed it and sank her teeth into its lovely neck from behind where its dirty little claws couldn't touch her thick coat. Already gnawing to stop the flow of blood and oxygen, the vixen could taste the squirrel; could hardly wait to feast on it. She released it as it stopped writhing, flipping its body gracefully to get at the best parts first._

_Her head came up however, muzzle stained red from having just torn into its soft underbelly, eyes wide with panic of her own. Dogs howling. She should have smelled them earlier, but she'd had her face buried in the squirrel, her senses overwhelmed with the kill._

__Panic panic panic. Dogs. Wolves. Panic panic panic. __

_She ran away as fast as she could on strong legs made for running and chasing, but the dogs were taller and the men were on horses. Though her heart pumped blood through her body as quickly as it could and her muscles felt as though she could run all night, she could smell them now, hear the men shouting, the horses snorting; the dogs on her heels snarling and barking and betraying their kind for the promise of a hearth and a soup bone. Still, she was clever and fast, and she'd run from them before, and so she darted left into a thicket._

_The dogs followed as the horses crashed through and the vixen dove for a bolthole, veering at the last minute when she realized it had been filled in. A clap of thunder sounded and she crumpled in sudden pain, yelping and whining and failing to move her hind legs no matter how hard she tried. The dogs closed in and bared too many sharp teeth._

_Terrified, the vixen bared her smaller teeth just as viciously, though she could feel her life slipping from her body. The first man slipped from his horse, smiling. He was_ smiling _._

_Of course he was._

_She satisfied herself with snapping at the first dog to come close enough to reach, biting down on the wattles of his neck as they closed in. And then she was being shaken, and the men laughed._

_The last sound she heard on this sweet earth was the harsh laughter of_ men _as she died, heedless of the old magic inherent in the bodies of red foxes._

_No matter. They'd feel it soon enough._

 

The dreaming fox had fallen asleep on the bed not a foot from a fat, orange tabby cat that watched her twitch, first with concern and then with dread, but didn't dare leave for fear for his mistress and friend. When she woke with a start, popping onto all fours with a snarl, the cat jumped back, hissing, ears pressed flat to his head, one paw just off the duvet and ready.

Hermione melted away from the fox, breathing hard and staring, her voice dripping with adrenaline and fear. "Oh. Oh God. Crookshanks. That-- was..." She forcibly unclenched her hand and reached for the comfort of her cat, only to hiss in pain as he slapped her arm, claws extended.

"Crookshanks!"

The cat backed away another step before fleeing, and Hermione had to squash the urge to lap at the three neat slash marks on her forearm. Collapsing back onto the bed, she closed her eyes and set her forehead to the pillow, exhaling loudly and wishing it would all just stop.

It wasn't fair that she had to _dream_ of death, too.

Her fluffy red tail snapped and then curled around her hip for comfort, and went unnoticed for a good, long while.

###

Employees of the Department of Mysteries don't as a rule call for happy hour celebrations, nor are they normally invited to those that the other departments host. This isn't necessarily because Department of Mysteries employees are social lepers (though to be fair, some are). In fact, it's because in the former case, people tend to forget they've been invited, and in the latter, people tend to forget where to find them or who even works there.

The Friday morning that Auror Connor Markham stopped Hermione in the canteen, therefore, was a momentous event for Department of Mysteries employees everywhere. A tall, smiling young man, Connor offered to buy her the tea and fruit she had selected- rather insisted, really, though Hermione could pay for her own tea and fruit just fine on her own, thank you. Normally, she would have dressed him down for the very idea, yet she found herself unexpectedly drawn to the deep dimples that transformed his face when he smiled or laughed.

_Normally_ , she'd have thought it was a little inappropriate with the funeral not far behind her, yet she harbored a secret that she had yet to share and likely never would. The morning after the dream of the hunt, she'd woken exhausted yet oddly lighter; her memories of Neville fond and yet not... crushing. Certainly she missed him, but there was a curious lack of grief; no sadness and no pain. Just a hollow she thought could possibly use filling.

Connor had walked her back to the Department and mentioned that the DMLE had been plotting a farewell for a senior Auror later that evening at The Cat's Tale, and if she wanted to come and bring a friend, she should.

Hermione's first instinct had been to say no; to point out that researchers such as herself had...well. Research to attend to rather than lollygagging about pubs. Or rather, that is what her first instinct ought to have been - what it always had been.

This time she smiled and clutched the unbuttoned collar of her fitted oxford shirt and agreed, but only if he'd be there.

Connor was a simple wizard, it was true, and easily entertained by the overt flirting of pretty witches. He'd flicked a finger against the back of her hand and grinned and promised that he would be and he'd find her.

He had. Hermione found he filled that hollow rather admirably. Once after the brief stay at the pub and at least twice the following Saturday morning, as a matter of fact. After that, she'd lost track.

###

Hermione stood in the Ministry ladies room with a thick stack of damp paper towels pressed to her forehead, one hand braced on the sink, eyes shut tight. It had been a hard morning in the office, and by ten AM, she'd had a raging migraine. The kind that had started only a few weeks ago... just after Neville died, to be exact. Potions, philtres, holistic herbals and Muggle remedies had failed utterly in controlling them; sleep and dim light did nothing but make them manageable until they ran their course. Going home this early in the day rankled Hermione; it offended her sensibilities, and yet her head hurt so badly she was unsure she could even _spell_ the word. Any of them.

She dragged the paper towels down her throat, imagining she could hear her flushed skin sizzling with the contact. The shock of cold was welcome, and she let her hand drift further down into the deep v-neck of her new jumper, smoothing just under the top of her brassiere with a sigh of relief.

Just then, the door creaked open and Hermione yanked her hand out of her jumper, only to find her bracelet had caught on the lace of her bra. Unable to even begin imagining what the rumor mill would do with her having been caught in the ladies room with her hand down her own bra, she did the first thing that came to mind.

The paper towels fell to the ground as she shrank and sprouted bright red fur, hand coming away from her chest easily now that it was a paw. In fox form, she darted to the furthest stall, under the door and jumped up onto the toilet tank, where she curled up intent on making no noise whatsoever.

Two women walked in; Hermione would have noticed that there were two separate voices, but in her fox form she smelled them first instead-- yes in fact, two human females. The first woman had been speaking in a high, small voice as they walked in, and showed no signs of stopping.

"-- _such_ a shame; he was so young. And so fit and single and by all accounts not gay."

The second woman's voice was thicker and darker, and she answered without hesitation as she entered the first stall, "True enough." After a pause, she added, "dunno about 'single', though. Heard he went home with that Granger woman from the.. erm. The Department of-- damn. You know. That one department around the basement somewhere? Right. Just last Friday after the pub crawl."

"Hmmph. Those spooks are always so mysterious... I wonder what she's up to, all the _gussying up_ all of a sudden," the first woman answered, Hermione cocking a fuzzy ear to hear better. "Say - wasn't she with the other Auror that died a few weeks ago? Was in all the papers - Longbottom?"

"Yeah. Said they were 'school friends', though," the second woman said as she flushed and slid open the lock on the door. "Who knows. But showing too much leg these days when there was a doubt she even had them before. In the market for a man, that much is certain."

"Not that it'll do her much good. Aurors are a superstitious lot - once they get it in their heads that she's been involved with their last two casualties, she'll have to start picking off of the other departments or move on."

"Ugh," the second woman snorted, grumbling as her foot made a scuffing sound on the ground, "is it so difficult for people to reach the wastebasket with their dirty paper towels?" A little louder as the tap came on, she added, "Have they? Started point out that she's somehow connected?"

"No," the first woman answered, her voice lifting in amusement. "But they could with a word to Jeannie in the DMLE secretarial pool. Honestly, it'd serve her right for suddenly poaching when honest girls like you and I have been working on them for ages."

The second woman laughed, her shoes clicking as she shifted in place. "Oh! How rude! You're just devious."

"Yes, well," answered the high and reedy woman, her voice growing more faint. "My biological clock is ticking just as loudly as anyone else's. I've got a bloodline to carry on, after all. Did you kn--"

Their nattering was finally cut off as the door swung shut behind them and Hermione stared blankly at the door of the stall for a brief moment before hopping down and trotting back to the sinks. Careful to stop before she moved _under_ them, she slid gracefully back into herself, blinking and turning over what they'd said about her. And Connor? Oh god. She hadn't heard anything, but... what they'd said... she had to find out.

Conscientious to the last, she stooped to pick up the damp paper towels that she'd left behind, her eyes widening as she dropped them in the wastebasket.

Her migraine was gone, and had been from the moment she'd shifted into her fox form.

###

Upon arriving at her desk, Hermione firecalled down to the DMLE and coincidentally spoke to Jeannie, whose voice was a little shaky as she informed Hermione that Auror Connor Markham had been killed in the line of duty just this morning. Apparently it had not been reported as of yet and details had not been released, but seeing as how... well. He and Hermione had been _friends_ , and there was no harm in saying. Apparently, the department's grief counselors would be available in the canteen for the next few days as well.

A cold weight settled in Hermione's stomach as she cut Jeannie off with a detached 'thanks' and pulled back from the green flames.

###

Hermione didn't go to Markham's funeral. It wasn't as if she'd known him all that well-- one fantastic weekend does not a friend or confidant make, after all.

She _had_ , however missed a date with the Junior Order the Saturday night he had stayed at her flat. A stern knock on her door early the _following_ Saturday morning (and consequently the day after the funeral she studiously had not attended) roused her--it was two of said Junior Order ready to take the necessary measures to ensure it did not happen again.

Uselessly finger-combing her hair as she squinted in the bright morning light, Hermione padded to the door in her pyjamas and looked out the peephole, swearing under her breath before opening the door.

"Christ, woman. What happened to you?" Ginny grimaced, looking Hermione up and down, taking in the lacy shorts and matching, rumpled camisole, half off one shoulder. "And who did you steal the pyjamas from?" She kissed Hermione's cheek as she walked in, leaving Luna still standing just on the other side of the threshhold, and still inspecting Hermione.

"Oh, don't start, Weasley. It's been a long fucking week," muttered Hermione, briefly going through the motions of returning Ginny's cheek kiss before turning her attention to Luna. "Coming in?"

Obviously confused, Ginny spun on her heel behind Hermione and locked eyes with Luna, who gave no indication of such as she walked in with a careful smile. "Good morning, Hermione." She held up the small paper bag in her hand as Hermione shut the door behind her. "We brought croissants."

"Thank you, yes," Hermione grumbled as she took the bag already moving forward. "As soon as I'm awake, I'll appreciate it properly, I'm sure. Kitchen?"

Luna shrugged and followed, though Ginny looped her arm through Luna's elbow and gave her a significant look. One that clearly said, "Exactly what the hell is going on here?" and all Luna could reply by way of one delicately arched eyebrow consisted of, "I don't know. But finding out over croissants sounds nice."

Hermione deposited the bag of pastries on the counter and started the coffeemaker. "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go grab something that'll keep Ginny from staring." Her tone was closer to the in-jokey sarcasm usually reserved for Ginny, but it was still apparent that something was off. Ginny did her best to play along however as she pulled up a stool at the high counter.

"Bah. I've seen better."

Luna had stopped at the refrigerator, examining the photographs attached with a variety of magnets; mixed Muggle and Wizarding like everything else in Hermione's flat. Her finger traced the outline of one of the Junior Order, most notably looking at where Neville was standing next to Ginny, arm draped over her shoulder in a careless, friendly way, though it was apparent that the camera was making him nervous. She giggled as little photograph Neville dragged Ginny in front of him to block her view, Ginny struggling and laughing and bumping Fred and Ron in the process.

"What, you don't think so, Miss Lovegood?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow cocked as she caught Luna's attention and nodded violently toward the seat next to her.

Luna moved to take it, speaking loudly enough to be heard, "Don't know. Those were rather nice pyjamas."

Hermione's voice rang from down the hall. "Shut it, the both of you!"

As Luna sat, Ginny grabbed her forearm and hissed, "What the bloody hell is that about? Did you see her? Did you _hear_ her? Coffee and not tea?!"

Turning her wide eyes on Ginny, Luna nodded her head slightly, whispering, "I saw but--"

"Alright, fair warning, stop talking about me," called Hermione as she drifted back down the corridor and into the kitchen in her dressing gown, heading straight for the counter near the coffeemaker. "Suppose you heard, then."

Luna was in favor of waiting to see what Hermione thought they'd heard, but in true Gryffindor fashion, Ginny piped up, "No. Because you ditched us last week, and Luna and I have been dispatched to ensure that it does not happen again. Are we on for tonight, then?"

Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead and swore again under her breath. "Last Saturday. Bugger, sorry. What'd I miss? Who're your brothers shagging this week?"

"Hermione, when was the last time you _forgot_ an appointment?" Luna ventured quietly.

"Last Saturday," Hermione answered peevishly, "and I've already apologized, so let's move on."

"Nah, she's got a point," Ginny added, eyebrow arched as she decided that it was time to break into the bag of pastries. "Alright, Hermione? It's... I mean. If you need to talk, you know we're here. It was... quiet enough without... and then this - Merlin, you should have been up hours ago - don't you have some sort of wildly classified research that can only be done at the crack of dawn to attend to?"

Hermione waved it off as she turned to stare at the coffee pot in an apparent attempt to _will_ it to percolate faster. "I'm fine. Just having a lie in. And I'm honestly, truly sorry about last week. I was... preoccupied."

" _Preoccupied_ ," Ginny repeated, raised eyebrow threatening to crawl up and meet her hairline. "...you're serious. Because I know what _that_ 's code for."

Luna watched the exchange with interest, saying nothing, even as Hermione shot back, "It's not _code_ for anything, Gin. It means I was caught up doing something and--"

"Some _one_ , more like. Only time you use 'preoccupied' to excuse yourself, it's that someone's gone and 'preoccupied' you, and to this magnitude of neglect, it had better have been a spectacular _preoccupation_ ," Ginny said, cocking her head at Hermione, leaving unspoken any opinion of whether it was appropriate or not.

"...damn it. Fine. Yes, I was _preoccupied_ like that. Happy now?"

"No! I mean, how--" Ginny looked away and took a breath before looking at Hermione again. "Who?"

Hermione turned at the sound of the coffemaker reaching the bottom of the reservoir, pulling down three mugs and the sugar from the cupboard. "Just... someone I met at the DMLE happy hour last Friday. Spent the majority of the weekend here, actually, but I sent him home early Sunday night."

At hearing "DMLE", Luna's eyes snapped to Hermione, currently retrieving cream from the refrigerator, her suspicions about Hermione's animagus form mingling in her mind with the news her father's paper had reported just this week. "Markham."

The small ceramic pot tumbled from Hermione's hands and cracked on contact with the tile, spilling cream around Hermione's feet, though it didn't occur to her to lift up the edge of her dressing gown. Hermione was busy peering at Luna. "How did you know?"

Luna peered at her. "You _have_ read about the fox spirits, haven't you? I know you must have--"

"It was a freak coincidence, Luna, not ancient fairy tales. Leave it alone," Hermione growled, though her tone was more an indication that it should not be left alone and Ginny picked this up immediately. Her eyes darting from Hermione to Luna and back.

"Wait, wait-- who's Markham, what'd I miss?"

"The Auror that I shagged last weekend was killed in a freak accident on Wednesday. And Luna's going to try and tell you that it's my fault because of a ridiculous legend."

Luna blinked, not backing down in the least and not surprised that Hermione knew exactly what she was referring to. "Kitsune are as much a fairy tale as dragons and mermaids, Hermione. Muggles get it wrong, but they exist nonetheless."

"I am _not_ a malignant fox spirit! Mainly due to the fact that they _don't exist_. I'm a fox animagus and that's that." Hermione flicked her wand at the mess, repairing the miniature pitcher and Banishing the spilled cream.

Speaking calmly, Luna said, "Hermione. You excel at putting facts together. I think maybe you owe it to _him_ to at least make sure."

Flushed, Hermione jabbed a finger in Luna's direction. "Don't you _dare_." Her eyes narrowed and she advanced a step, the other hand raising her wand ever so slightly.

Ginny hopped to her feet, ready to stop an absolutely unthinkable confrontation. "Alright, hold up! How about we not be completely mad for a second and it explain what the bloody hell just happened?"

Luna nodded once and stood, her hand on Ginny's elbow. "No. It's ok. I think I'm going to go now."

"You do that," Hermione spat as she relaxed ever so slightly.

Luna on the other hand remained calm as she drew her wand, leaning far enough to kiss Ginny's cheek though her eyes didn't leave Hermione. "Watch your shadow, Hermione, and then tell me I'm wrong." With that, Luna Disapparated. Straight to Harry's doorstep.  
  
###

Harry shook his head at Luna in complete disbelief. "Luna, you're brilliant, I know, and I know better than to ignore you, but this... it's _impossible_. There's no way. Hermione is not being taken over by an evil spirit and she had nothing to do with Neville's... with what happened to him."

Luna shook her head, despairing of making the point she'd been researching since Hermione's announcement. He was one of the two closest of her remaining friends, and he was closer still to Hermione-- if he would just listen and believe her, he might be able to do something about it. She reached across the space between their seats and squeezed Harry's hand.  
"She isn't being _taken over_ , per se. It was already there." She sighed. "Kitsune are magic; Muggle folklore can't agree on whether they're good, bad or in between, but Wizarding lore points to the fact that Kitsune are the result of an early interbreeding of wizards and fox spirits in human form. The species has undergone some evolution, most notably traced back to cross-breeding in fox form in the early sixteenth century. Legend has it the new strain... wiped out the existing male kitsune population for some unknown reason and began preying on human males next, though some slipped into human form and insinuated themselves into the population for good. When wizards started hunting them, they stopped surfacing as often and became more of an old wives' tale than reality, and their hunting patterns became more of an innate curse."

"...so Hermione isn't being taken over by an evil, _man-hating_ fox spirit. She's descended from one," Harry deadpanned.

"Finally!" Luna exclaimed. "Yes, exactly. And she will absolutely not listen to reason. She won't even investigate it. I thought maybe if _you_ spoke to her...?"

Hesitant, Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Neville... I mean. Nev wasn't the first bloke she... y'know... why now, then?"

"She hadn't released the fox yet," Luna answered, making it sound as though it was the most obvious and reasonable explanation.

Harry peered at Luna, sighing heavily before he spoke. "Luna. We all miss Neville, y'know. Blaming it on Hermione... it's not... not going to..." his sentence trailed off as her gaze bored through him.

"Oh. No," Luna breathed as she stood, releasing his hand and straightening her skirt. "No, I suppose it won't." She looked up and mustered a smile for Harry. "Thanks for listening all the same. I'll... see you tonight?"

"Luna, wait," said Harry, confused over what words went next. "I'm sorry."

Luna picked up her bag and kissed him on the cheek. "Me too, Harry."

###

Hermione buried Crookshanks in the far corner of her parents' back garden. She didn't tell anyone about how she'd been shifting in and out of her fox form and fighting with the tail that always lingered and wouldn't stop being difficult to transfigure back. She didn't want to explain how she'd one minute scolded Crookshanks for worrying her fluffy tail and the next slipped out of her fox form with blood on her hands and orange tufts of fur under her nails, a sickeningly familiar copper tang in her mouth. She couldn't remember what had happened, but how she had found him couldn't have made it more clear.

Obviously, he'd died of old age. Hermione refused to believe anything else.  
She needed to study harder.

###

Luna didn't make it to that night's happy hour. She wasn't particularly happy and didn't have an hour to spare pretending to be. Instead, she asked Ginny to pass on her regrets, and told her she had to go see her auntie.

It just so happened that great auntie Mariel was the head librarian at the Edinburgh Library of Magical Beasts and Dark Creatures.

###

Harry stood frowning at the outside of Hermione's locked office door, raising his hand to knock again just as the doorknob audibly clicked. Hermione's very recognizably annoyed voice called out, "Come in, Harry,"

Hand poised over the doorknob, Harry yanked it back as it turned on its own. As the door opened, he began to say, "Alright, Hermione?" The question trailed off as he realized though his eyes were trained directly at where Hermione's should be, he was looking directly at the center of a man's chest. Confused, he followed the upward curve of stylish business robes in his path to find himself face to face with someone he had been well acquainted with at some point in time.

"Zabini?"

"Potter," Zabini smirked as he tugged at the lapel of the tailored pinstripe suit visible under his robes, not bothering to stop on his way out into the corridor and toward the lift.

Harry watched him go for a moment before turning and entering Hermione's office, pushing the door shut behind him. "Hey," he breathed, confused, pointing in the direction that Zabini had gone. "What'd he want?"

Hermione shrugged too casually, waving it off. "Oh you know. Business. You?"

Tilting his head, Harry immediately caught the fact that her hair was down around her flushed face, collar askew. "...I err. Wanted to talk to you." He spoke as he sat slowly. "Are you... Alright?"

"A little tired of everyone asking if I'm _alright_. Otherwise? Fine, Harry," Hermione answered peevishly as she twisted her mass of well-defined curls around and up on top of her head and stabbed a pencil through it. A loopy tendril fell out and drifted alongside her face as she leaned back in her seat with comfortable grace, crossing her legs. Her lip was set, however in what seemed a permanent state of almost smirking, and Harry wondered suddenly how he'd missed all this happening-- the skirts that left her crossed knees exposed; the hair, the open collar and new jumpers and... was that _lipstick?_

Ron might have babbled that entire thought out loud, and even as he heard his (other) best mate's voice in his head, Harry made an attempt at subtlety. "Well, you know. We just worry. You seem... a little different lately, is all." It mattered little that this was not actually the conversation he'd had in mind that had involved a little bit of brainstorming on how to get Luna off of the subject of Hermione's so-called possession. Of course, given that he was now fighting not to stare at the curve of Hermione's thigh disappearing under her smooth pinstripe skirt, possession was a right possibility.

"Rubbish," Hermione snapped. "None of you are used to looking at me any more closely than you have to. This whole thing with Neville just... set you all off. As if I was going to break and needed to be watched constantly."

" _This whole thing with Neville_?" Harry breathed, incredulous. "Hermione, he's _gone_ ; that's more than a _thing_."

"Exactly, yes, but it can't rule my life. I can't let it, Harry, not for a second." Hermione sighed, turning her eyes up toward the ceiling. "I'm fine. I swear."

Harry studied her, not quite convinced. She had a point that he understood well, but there was something too flat about her voice; too hard about her posture. "And Blaise?"

"My department has been assigned to work on a project with his," she shrugged dismissively. "It's nothing."

Setting his jaw, Harry nodded. "Alright." He stood and held a hand out for her. "Come on. I'm supposed to meet Ron at that new curry shop in Diagon for lunch. You should come with me."

"...oh, no-- I should probably work through lunch," Hermione said, her eyes snapping back to Harry.

That sounded closer to Hermione, at least. Harry half-smiled as he shook his hand at her again. "You can do that anytime. Come on- it's been ages since it was just the three of us."

Hermione hesitated before taking his hand with a tight smile. "Alright. But let's make it quick."

Harry took a breath, squeezed her fingers and tugged. "Will do."

###

It was far too early in the morning and Harry was --as usual-- running a little harder than Ron, given that he covered significantly less ground with every stride. About half a kilometer from their flat, Ron had elbowed Harry good-naturedly, which started a war of elbows and one-upmanship that could only end in a sprint to the finish and someone eventually being tripped.

Flat in sight, they were both laughing as Ron lengthened his stride to move up and drop in front of Harry, who had to dodge and weave to avoid tripping. He put a foot forward to land directly behind Ron's, and Ron ended up having to hop on one foot to keep his balance, swearing loudly.

Harry put on a burst of speed as Ron recovered from the hop, but as usual, Ron's legs were too long and he slammed into the wall next to the door to the downstairs entrance just a second before Harry did. Both stood panting, Harry digging out the housekey as he grumbled, "Cheat."

Ron waved his hand around in Harry's general direction. "Not my fault you're about a meter tall," he breathed, holding a hand to his side.

Turning the key in the lock, Harry paused to flash a rude gesture at Ron and saw the post owl approaching. He shrugged and opened the door as the owl tossed their copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in their direction. Ron caught it neatly and cracked it open as he trailed behind Harry on the steps up to the flat.

They reached the upstairs landing and went inside with minimal stray elbows. Harry hung the keys on the peg and stripped off his jacket and shoes, catching sight of their small assortment of framed photos and pausing mid-motion. "Y'know, we should see if Hermione wants to come over tonight."

Ron nodded as he skimmed the Sports section, then swore again, flicking the back of his hand at the Quidditch results. "Yeah yeah. Should. Had lunch with her... what? Monday? Yeah. Four days is long enough. And god knows whether she'll make it to the pub Saturday. Sodding Appleby." He frowned and turned the paper right side out, priorities taken care of, to read the front page.

"Yeah, dunno. I'm worried," said Harry, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "She seems alright but--"

"--she's really not. I know," finished Ron. He held up the paper in Harry's direction, "Oi. Look at this-- Zabini heir missing, Authorities without leads." Ron looked up from the paper. "Shite. Thought he was half-arsed on their side-- and I know _we_ didn't make him disappear..."

He looked up to find Harry, ashen-faced and staring incredulously.

"Harry?"

###

Harry hadn't wanted to say anything to Ron about Luna's theories, but Zabini's disappearance had thrown him completely off. He'd seen Zabini in Hermione's office, had seen the unhurried straightening of the robes, the flush on Hermione's face. If it had been anyone but Hermione and Zabini, he would have guessed that he'd interrupted them at a critical juncture between a snog and a shag.

Anyone but Hermione... but did that hold any longer? The thought alone made him flush with embarrassment. Of course it did. There was a totally rational explanation for all of this. Just because Hermione changed her clothes didn't make her a different person, and the Hermione he knew would never have done such a thing in her office. With Blaise Zabini of all people.

Bolstered by the thought, he squared his shoulders and turned the corner on the corridor leading to her department, determined that his visit now was really just a friendly one. It was just after eight, meaning that she should already have been there at least an hour, but her door was locked, lights dimmed. He knocked lightly just in case and received no response. The receptionist was not in yet, and Harry decided to sit for a bit and wait.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione hurried up to her office door, oblivious of Harry sitting nearly in her direct line of sight, balancing a coffee cup and her briefcase in order to pull her wand and open her door. He cleared his throat and she jumped, her briefcase hitting the ground with a thump and a sputter of paper.

"God damn it!" She swore loudly, stepping over the mess to set her coffee cup on her desk.

Harry cocked his head and came closer as Hermione crouched to right her case. "Good morning to you, too."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's been a rough one, alright?"

Crouching down across the mess from Hermione, Harry reached out and picked up a file, carefully re-stuffing the half-bulging contents more neatly. "I heard," he said, gently, vague enough to allow her to come to her own conclusions.

Sure enough, Hermione slammed the file in her hand back down on the ground. "What, Harry? What could you possibly have _heard_?!"

The pit of his stomach filled with dread. Luna's wild stories ran through his mind at high volume and Harry took that as confirmation. "I saw the _Prophet_ this morning, Hermione. Zabini's disappearance?"

"Why would I possibly care?"

Harry set his jaw. "I saw him in your office on Monday."

Hermione gathered the files and briefcase in a violent sweep and stood, her voice hard. "A lot of people end up in my office, Harry. That's why I have one."

"He wasn't _working_ , Hermione. I saw--" he trailed off as Hermione dumped her armful on her desk and turned to stare at him, feeling stupid for saying 'I know you snogged him'; they were adults for god's sake. "I just think it's more than you're letting on."

Hermione's nose twitched, her lip twisting for a brief moment as she leaned back on her desk and said, "So, what? I'm worrying myself sick over Zabini, now?"

Running a hand through his hair, Harry stepped the rest of the way into her office and shut the door. "It's just... Luna seems to think--"

That had done it. Hermione stood straight, practically launching herself to her feet, jabbing her finger at Harry. "So of course, I not only care, but I made it happen, is that it?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Hermione kept on. "I fucking swear, she needs to have her head examined, because she's gone more mad than ever." He tried again, but she took abother step, now actually poking his chest with the jabbing finger. "And if she doesn't shut her stupid, mad mouth about me, mark my words, I will shut it for her."

Stopping short when his back hit the door, Harry realized he'd slowly been backing away from Hermione, whose eyes were tilted at a dangerous angle. Slowly, he closed his hand around her poking wrist. "Hermione. Listen to yourself. We're just... worried."

Hermione's eyes darted to his hand and back to his face, expression softening as she leaned forward and set her cheek against his shoulder. She pulled her hand free to wrap her arms around his waist and murmured, "I'm fine. It's just... been a long... guh. Few years, hasn't it?"

Exhaling, Harry in turn slid his arms around her and let his head drop against hers. "Yeah."

He felt her swallow and turn her head, sucking in a hard inhale as she spoke again and her breath blew soft and warm against his neck. "Nothing was going on with Zabini."

"Ok," Harry murmured, shifting and disturbed by his body's response to her actions, and almost as confused by the fact that he could swear she was doing it on purpose. "Alright."

Hermione stepped in closer, her breasts pressing against his chest as she looked up. "I'm sorry. I should probably get to work. Can we talk about this later?"

In all the years that Harry had been friends with Hermione, he'd seen her starkers, carried her unconscious form up a flight of stairs, he'd snogged her on a dare, slapped her on the arse once as retaliatory action, and once she'd had to sit in his lap with her feet draped across Ron's while traveling crammed into the back of a Mini for well over two hours. He'd spent months hiding in close proximity to her, sleeping in tents and huddling in a knot with her and Ron. They'd shared hundreds of crushing hugs and comfortable dogpiles on sofas and beds, her (rather nice, he'd admit) body smashed against his and sometimes Ron's and sometimes both, and yet, it had never occurred to him that Hermione was a viable love interest. He'd never thought of trying to make it anything other than what it was.

He was worse than Ron in that sense - he'd never really seen her as a 'girl'. Perhaps once or twice, she had unwittingly set him off, certainly, but it wasn't Hermione he thought of when he took care of the problem. And yet suddenly his hands were clammy and his mouth was dry. Her eyes were impossibly wide as she watched him, and he could feel a flush creeping up his throat and face. Struggling to contain his breathing, he tried to conjure thoughts of Snape in ladies underwear on a hippogriff to keep from responding in other, more physically manifest ways.

"I- yeah. Sure." Harry managed. "Anytime. Soon, though."

"Dinner tonight? You could come to my place?" Hermione smilled and Harry's heart sped uncontrollably. Her hand drifted to his side-- an overtly innocent gesture, and yet in the inexplicable state he found himself in, he could feel the warmth of her hand through his shirt. In fact, he could feel the heat radiating from her and his tongue was thick with the smell of her perfume.

Swallowing, he reached for the doorknob with a nod, smiling stupidly. "Yeah, That'll be good. Um. I'll be there."

When he initially walked out of her office, he'd had to fight not to run to the nearest gent's and have a wank, trying to convince himself that he was no longer a bloody teenager and could damn well wait. By the time he made it back to his own desk, the crushing urge was gone, but he was suffused by the need to see Hermione again. Still vaguely disturbed, he couldn't help worrying what he was going to say and whether he should get flowers on the way. And whether he could get her to talk about this mess with Luna before he tackled her to the nearest surface.

He wasn't worried. It should be a short conversation, as Luna was obviously far off the mark.

###

Hermione shut the door behind Harry and walked to the Floo grate. Her smile had turned down into a scowl and she threw a handful of powder onto the flames.

"Luna Lovegood's office."

A bright office flashed into view and Luna turned from her desk, offering a spacey smile, though her eyes were sharp. "Hello, Hermione. What can I do for you?"

"You can stay the fuck out of my business, Lovegood. I swear to God and anything else that's listening that if you spread your drivel about me to anyone else, you _will_ feel the wrong end of my wand, are we clear?"

Not at all taken aback or even visibly affected, Luna blinked. "I have new research you might want to look at."

"NO, LUNA," snarled Hermione. "It's rubbish. All of it. Stay out of my business. Stay out of my life."

She pulled back, tail thrashing, Banishing the flames with a flick of her wrist as she turned away. The flare-up of the dying fire cast her shadow into high relief on the far wall, and Hermione gasped.

Her _tail_ was thrashing.

###

As the day wore on, Harry's head cleared a little and he began to feel rather foolish about the incident with Hermione. Of course it hadn't been sexual. Hermione was having a rougher patch than usual, and Harry was clearly worried and possibly sleep-deprived or something. At any rate, he left the office a few minutes early, stopped in at the flat to change, and then for a box of Hermione's favorite chocolate biscuits. The extent of his plan was to sit and talk for a bit over tea and see if they couldn't sort the problem out. Harry had never been the most deft with interpersonal relations, but he and Hermione understood one another better than anyone these days. It'd taken all they'd been through to get there, and he doubted that Ron and Hermione would ever quite understand one another the same way, though the reasons for that were legion.

When he arrived at Hermione's flat and knocked on her door, she answered almost immediately. She smelled fantastic, she looked even better, and when Harry held the box of biscuits out to her, she took it with a dazzling smile and a kiss to his cheek that left him flushed and incapable of coherent speech.

"Um. Hi."

###

Luna knelt at her hearth in the flat she shared with Ginny, mouth pulled into a tight line as she waited for Hermione to answer. After the second try, she Flooed for a Network Operator, who informed her that Ms. Granger's grate had been shut off at the origin.

Frowning, she sat back, trying to decide whether to try Harry again.

###

When Hermione turned her back with the box of biscuits, Harry shook his head violently. His face was hot, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage, and he was forced once again to picture all manner of monstrosities to keep his trousers from tightening as he followed and sat in the dead center of the sofa.

"Can I get you anything?" Hermione smiled, and Harry swallowed hard.

"Tea's fine."

###

Ginny came home, slamming the door to the flat with a huge sigh. She tossed her coat aside, unzipped and pulled off her boots, threw them unceremoniously into the corner and then stalked directly across the room to where Luna sat, flopping onto the ground and settling her head in Luna's lap before saying anything.

"What are we doing?"

"Wibbling," murmured Luna, pushing Ginny's hair back from her face companionably. "Hard day?"

"Long practice," Ginny sighed, rolling back to better look at Luna. "'M beat. What are we wibbling about?"

"Hermione and the thing with being descended from malevolent vulpines," Luna sighed as she pushed Ginny's hair around again to compensate for the roll.

"Well, hell," said Ginny, frowning too. "Are you sure now?"

"She firecalled today and threatened to deal with me if I didn't shut up about it."

###

Hermione set the tea tray down on the low table and sat next to Harry, pouring and fixing a cup of tea for him and then one for herself. She took a biscuit and sat back, still smiling. "I'm glad you came."

Clutching his cup and saucer, Harry sighed and didn't look at her so that he could remember what it was that he'd wanted to say. "Hermione, I'm worried about you. Listen, Luna--"

"--is a paranoid obsessive, Harry. We've discussed this," said Hermione, her voice hard, though sounding more put out than angry. She set her teacup down again and took one of Harry's hands in hers. "I know-- it's extraordinarily coincidential, granted, yes. But it's ridiculous what she's suggesting. I'm still the same person I've always been."

Harry set his cup down too, more to keep it from clacking as the hand holding it shook slightly. "Something's off, Hermione. I know. _I've_ noticed. _Ron's_ noticed. Even if she's not right, there's something to the fact that--"

"There's nothing! Neville has had people looking for him since before Voldemort died. Connor was an Auror. Blaise disappeared not even a day aft--"

His head turned slowly to meet Hermione's eyes, now wide and blinking as if she hadn't really thought about what she'd said until she'd said it out loud, a rare condition for Hermione.

"So there _was_ something with Zabini," murmured Harry through the sliver of ice that crept down the back of his neck.

Hermione shook her head. "I-- No. He came by to drop some paperwork off, I-- mean there was something, but it wasn't _something_. It was nothing."

###

Ginny's frown pulled into a grimace. "What?"

"Harry must have talked to her. He's the only other person I told." Calm, though uncharacteristically conflicted, Luna went on. "And now she's not answering her Floo and calling Harry seems like the next logical step, only he's probably tired of hearing it and still thinks I'm a bit batty." She shook her head with a little huff of laughter, as if this was unthinkable.

"You are," answered Ginny with a crooked grin, "but that doesn't mean that you aren't right." She sighed and sat up, bracing a hand on the rug and leaning forward with a groan. "Come on. Let's Floo Harry. He's the only one she'll listen to."

Ginny crawled to the Floo and threw a handful of powder on the grate, shouting, "My brother, the git!"

The sitting room of Ron and Harry's flat came into view, Ron sprawled on the sofa, legs crossed ankle to knee, Quidditch magazine in hand. Without looking up, he waved. "Hey, Gin." He pointed to the magazine, "Cannons traded Murtry. 'Bout bloody time."

Luna scooted up close and waved, "Hello, Ronald. Where's Harry?"

Ron slapped the magazine shut on his thigh, exasperated. "Have I developed some sort of contagious disease? Planning a surprise party for me or some such?"

Tilting her head, Luna smiled, "No, but I can if it would make you happy. Orange decorations and things. And beer. But I wouldn't tell you, thus retaining the element of surprise. Why?"

With a snort of laughter, Ron sat forward. "Because earlier Harry said he had to go over to Hermione's 'on his own'," he said, rolling his eyes, but adding quickly with a self-deprecating smile, "not that it bothers me that everyone wants Harry and not me, I'm just saying."

Luna's eyes widened, mumbling, "Oh. That's not good."

"What?" asked Ron, sitting further forward.

Ginny shot a look at Luna and then pushed her way into the center of flame again, speaking quickly. "Don't worry about it, we've got to go. Thanks."

Luna stood, rushing to the hall closet for the duffel bag she'd packed roughly two weeks prior, meeting Ginny's eyes as she stepped into her shoes. "Would you like to assist me in possibly binding a fox spirit and potentially royally pissing off one of our best friends?"

Already pulling on her trainers, Ginny shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant.

"Sure. I'm free."

###

Harry took a steadying breath as he squeezed her hand. "Hermione. Zabini was here?"

Looking down at his hand, Hermione bit her lip, tentative and almost coy in a way that Hermione never used to be. "I wasn't trying to hurt him, he just... I couldn't help it."

"...'couldn't help what?" asked Harry in a careful, wary voice, hips shifting unconsciously.

"I wasn't even trying. That's just how it's been happening lately."

Brow knit, Harry asked again, "What, Hermione?"

She chewed her lip and scooted closer, leaning her head on Harry's shoulder as her arm slipped around his middle. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders without a second thought and squeezed. "You can talk to me, you know that."

"I don't even know. It's-- just. They look at me differently. All of them." Hermione murmured.

A cold shiver ran down his spine as Harry thought back on Luna's theory. "... Them?"

Hermione looked up and met Harry's eyes, her hand trailing up his chest. "Men. They shudder and drool; they follow me and beg my name and my Floo; it's ridiculous." She crossed her legs, letting her leg fall over his as well. " _They're_ ridiculous."

Suffused with heat, Harry shifted again as his subconscious picked up the unnerving edge to Hermione's voice and issued instructions that were at odds with those radiating from his groin. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, tightening the fingers curled around her shoulder. "Oh?" He turned away as he spoke, willing away his arousal as her exposed knee slowly and deliberately dragged up his thigh. Desperately, he tried to remember what the problem was with this, but his head felt submerged in a heavy fog and he was convinced Hermione's skin was the only remedy.

"Not you, though, Harry," Hermione purred, running a finger down the side of his neck. "You've always been my best friend." She dropped a scandalous kiss on the underside of his jaw and what felt like a raw jolt shook Harry just enough from the haze to push her away.

"Hermione. Is Luna right?" Harry asked, holding her at arm's length, though his damnable elbows began to bend to allow her closer.

"Of course not--" An urgent knock at the door pulled Hermione's attention away. "Don't be--"

The voice on the other side of the door sounded a lot like Ginny's 'fucking pay attention' voice as it called out for both Hermione and Harry. Harry made to rise off of the sofa and suddenly Hermione was in his lap, holding him down and turning his head to face her. "We'll ignore them. And they'll go away. And then it'll just be you and me."

Harry licked his lips, involuntarily (mostly) sliding his hands up her thighs and somehow the pounding at the door was faint background noise. "I-- no. Hermione listen, we need to-- sort this out first."

Hermione tilted her head, smiling and showing too many teeth as her tail thrashed against Harry's knees. "You're the savior of the Wizarding world. You're stronger than any of them were." She tilted her head and let her tongue flick against his lower lip as his hands strayed around her arse. "You'll be fine, you'll see."

The door that had just gone quiet suddenly imploded and Harry flinched away as Hermione growled low in her throat.

"Stupefy!" shouted Luna, and before Hermione was done flying up and away from Harry, Luna added, " _Constringo Totalis_!" In an instant, Hermione was bound mummy-style from chest to foot, hands to her sides, falling back against the sofa and onto the ground with a hard bounce.

Both Harry and Ginny whipped around to glare at Luna, who merely shrugged. "I'd rather not take the chance. Women are deadly creatures even without foxes involved. I should know."

Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair looking vaguely shell-shocked. Ginny wandered up, wand drawn vaguely in Hermione's direction and deadpanned, "Ron's going to be so hacked off."

The duffel bag in Luna's hand hit the ground with a thump as she dropped it and rolled Hermione onto her back gently, examining her face for injuries before pushing her eyelids up and checking her unconscious gaze. "Harry, did we interrupt a long-awaited quiet evening, or was she about to curse you to a premature and possibly messy death by means of mind-blowing animalistic sexual favors?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry pulled the nearest cushion into his lap. "It might have been that second one given the tail and all."

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "Kinky."

He flipped a half-hearted rude gesture at her as a light began to rise up out of Hermione's chest, glowing an angry black-orange and swirling in almost an organic shape. Luna held her wand on it and frowned. "Definitely the second. Ginny? Bag, please."

###  
###

Hermione looped her arm through the proffered elbow of the nice young man she'd met... well. A few hours ago at least. She laughed low as he whispered a rather polite proposition and she nodded and murmured the name of her Floo Connection, not worried since he'd forget it soon after use. She _did_ do very secret work, after all.

He followed her through the Floo to her flat and she made sure he was very comfortable. The bloke was the first wizard she'd been with in the six months since The Incident, after all.

Her eyes glittered in the guttering firelight as she pushed him down onto her bed. For a split second, he thought he felt the soft brush of something sleek and plush against his knee, but the alcohol and the arms full of warm girl made him forget entirely about it almost immediately.

 

Hermione just had to be careful not to neglect Junior Order meetings and _she_ would be just fine.

 

\---end

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a disclaimer - I realized when I re-read this that there could be a twisted sort of morality play theme ascribed to this awful little fairy tale, and I'd like to curb this line of thought in case it surfaces. I'm not remotely suggesting that turning into a het sex kitten makes you evil, nor that if you associate with sex kittens, you deserve to die. I merely took elements of various vicious fairy tales and mashed them together to make Hermione an unwitting menace to society. :D No wild women, sex kittens or men were harmed in the forming of this tale. Swear. I like wild women. Ask anyone.


End file.
